Never the Same #86 The Proverbial Gut Punch

Well, it finally hit the fan and Kirk couldn’t, didn’t want to accept the truth of it.

 

Cue: “Take the Long Way Home” https://youtu.be/LPRrHyXchEY?si=HW9ec5HPMpbMN3Ma

 

            Kirk couldn’t believe what he comprehended when he read the column’s headline; his blood ran cold and drained from his brain. His consciousness spun; he felt light-headed and his knees got weak. His stomach lurched in the personal implications facing him head on that those few words in the sports section suggested. 

            Suddenly, the few odd interactions over the past couple months he had with his racing contacts who acted oddly when Kirk mentioned that he was in the process of building a new car came to light. The counter guy at the performance shop, Ed at the junkyard, and even Chuck behaved uneasily when Kirk told him about his new car. Did they all know? How long had they known? Had a rumor of this or maybe even the truth circulated about on the racing grapevine for some time and everyone knew or suspected had finally been disclosed? Nah, couldn’t be, so he let it be.

***

            A few minutes earlier a morose brother-in-law Jon’s concise cryptic announcement didn’t warn Kirk of what the article in the newspaper’s sports section revealed and the effect it would signify upon the young stock car racer Kirk. After the confused Kirk disconnected with Jon, Kirk found his father reading the sports section of all pieces of the newspaper. Kirk stood there a few seconds hoping his father would see him and understand he wanted the sports section, but no, his father picked up the rest of the paper and handed it to Kirk.

            “Ah, are you almost done with the sports section?”

            His father peered at Kirk over his glasses. “No. I’m reading about the Bills and a potential run for the playoffs and possibly the Superbowl! Can you believe it? The Bills.”

            “Totally unbelievable,” Kirk said, his spinning head stopped a moment. “Jon said I needed to read something important in the sports section.”

            “What was it about?”

            “He didn’t say.”

            His father impassively looked at him again and abruptly a light came on in his expression. “Oh. There was some article about racing.”

            “What did it say?”

            With a rustle of newspaper as his father shrugged, “I can’t say. I didn’t pay any attention to it.”

            Kirk let out his breath in what might have been a cross between a groan and a growl. He impatiently waited gazing at the newspaper’s first section while not actually reading and comprehending any of what was written therein. Finally, Kirk’s father relinquished the sports section to Kirk whose heart raced in anticipation. In his hands, Kirk didn’t know what the article might reveal, yet from Jon’s enigmatic warning he sensed it couldn’t be any good news.

            Kirk took the sports section while holding his breath, unable to guess what might be written there.  He scanned the front page and the second, and he almost missed the article in amongst the other BS ball articles.                           

            The article’s headline read: “NASCAR Contemplates Ending Sanctions at Local Stock Car Tracks.” Of course, NASCAR (National Association of Stock Car Racing) had brought the two tracks where Kirk raced out of the old days of dirt racing by updating the facilities and adding professionalism into the local racing sport.

            The article went on to state that nationwide all the stock car tracks were hurt by the economy and the obvious impact of higher (tripled) gasoline prices at the pump.  This equated to fewer spectators in the stands and fewer racers competing thereby hurting the sanctioning body’s bottom line.  The article said that NASCAR needed to concentrate on the large tracks down south with larger crowds and a more engaged fan base. Like the fans at his tracks weren’t engaged? There were enthusiastic crowds when he raced as far as his limited experience indicated.

            Kirk’s eyes blurred as he read and reread the article more slowly to fully comprehend and let the consequences soak into his consciousness. How could they do this to us racers who live to race? There were so many avid racers in all the classes that had already weathered the high prices in the sour economy. Kirk might have seen fewer people sitting in the stands towards the end of his second season, but he never comprehended anything like this unfolding as a result.  Maybe he was just oblivious to the obvious for the last couple months. His father sat there at the table reading away without a care in the world. Kirk’s mother’s endless busyness continued in the kitchen, but she always seemed attuned to Kirk’s world. She halted midstream.

            “What’s the matter dear?”

             Kirk didn’t want to face it by saying it aloud. After a moment’s hesitation, he glumly said, “It sounds like there won’t be any racing next year.”

            His mother who never went to the races not wanting to see her favorite (only) son race on a track with a bunch of guys hell bent for election charging for the checkered flag, she still recognized it was Kirk’s single-minded passion. “So why not? What happened to cause them to stop the races?”

            Kirk surely didn’t want to talk about it in depth, but said, “They said the economy hurt ticket sales along with the high price of gas prohibiting people from going to the races.”

            “What’s this?” His father asked, suddenly aware of a conversation around him.

            Kirk didn’t want to talk to his opinionated father about it afraid of the possible ardent oblique angle he’d respond to Kirk’s concerns.  Kirk sat there staring at the article but not saying anything else.

            “He said there’s not going to be any racing because of the price of gas.”

            With a rustling and a thump, his father put his newspaper down. With a loud, vehement voice, he said, “Just as well, it’s been a big waste of time and money. You had your fun, now it’s time to get to hard work on the farm.” He paused. “Remember, I have big plans for the farm next year.”

            Grabbing the edge of the table, Kirk stood up so fast the ladder-back chair tipped over and slammed down to the floor. He took three long strides to the door, went through it, and slammed it shut. Of course, he thought, his father would be happy with the unforeseen outcome of Kirk not racing.

            Kirk slowly walked to his van, got in, and shut the door. Inside, the van felt like a freezer. He leaned his forehead on the cold, hard steering wheel. He went through a mix of emotions: Confusion, anger, defeat…desolation. Kirks single obsession, the one and only single pursuit Kirk had found he had an aptitude for, the longtime racing endeavor he had craved as a child, something he strived to succeed at for the last two years, and with the new car in progress, he had fostered high hopes for his future as a big time stock car driver, but now, all these had been dashed to bits. He sat there, a wasteland of despair and loss. He sat there, the steering wheel beginning to hurt his forehead. Sitting up, a dim light of comprehension began to shine, revived in his memory. He started the van and departed the farm yard, his headlights blazing a path forward as the snow crunched under his tires.

            Kirk drove into the night, heading to the one guy who might have an answer to his many concerns. For forty minutes, Kirk had time to think. He thought back to his recollections. He recalled the counter man at the performance shop acting peculiarly when talking about Kirk building a new car for next season. Huh. Then, he remembered Ed at the junkyard who took a pause when Kirk said he was building a stock car. Huh. Anyway, soon enough, he was there and pulled into the neat, tidy suburban home’s driveway despite the banked snow. A vehicle sat outside the garage, but Kirk wasn’t sure who it belonged to. He went to the door and rapped on the door hoping his trip wasn’t in vain. A familiar woman answered the door.

            “Kirk, hello!” Chuck’s wife said. “Chuck is in the garage; you can go through here.” She pointed to the garage door right next to where she stood.

            “Okay, thanks,” he said. “Oh, sorry. My boots.” He pointed down.

            “You’re fine. Go ahead.” She stood back to let him through. “Bad news today, huh?”

            Her words just sunk deeper into an already downcast Kirk. “Yeah, I couldn’t believe it.”

            “Chuck!” She shouted into the garage, “Kirk is here!”

            “Kirk?” Came Chuck’s voice. 

            “Yeah Chuck, it’s me, even off season.” Kirk said, trying to sound upbeat but realizing there won’t be another season forever off season.

            They shook hands while Kirk took a quick gaze around Chuck’s immaculately clean and tidy garage with his stock car appearing the same condition.

            “You read the paper this afternoon?”  Kirk asked.

            “Yeah, sure,” Chuck said, with a pause. “You must mean the NASCAR announcement; why you stopped by, huh?”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “Well.” Chuck drew out. “Sorry you didn’t know, but we knew NASCAR was dropping their sanctions all along.”

            Kirk felt crestfallen and dumbstruck, unable to say anything, realizing that you need to keep connections with others current and keep in the know to what the heck is going on out there rather than being isolated.

            It goes without saying throughout Kirk’s story, but here it is being said again anyway: Kirk would be Never the Same like never before after this occurrence.